Complete
by HardyBoyz4Eva
Summary: NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART! Slash. Phil cheated on Jeff. Now, Jeff sets out to show Phil exactly who he belongs to. Jeff/Phil. Dom/sub, Punishment, Pain!Kink, Scarification, Marking. Please Review!


**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warnings:** Slash, Dom/sub, Punishment, Pain!Kink, Scarification, etc.

* * *

Phil looked around hesitantly and wondered, not for the first time, why he had decided to do this.

It was after the Hell in a Cell PPV and all of the stars, past and present, had decided to head to a local bar to have a few celebratory rounds before they hit the road tomorrow. The scent of booze and cheap cigarettes overwhelmed him and he momentarily swooned before he was able to steady himself. Why was he here? Oh, yes. Because Heyman had wanted to celebrate his successful bout with Ryback. Phil had tried to remind him that he didn't drink, but…

When it came to Paul Heyman, it was best to learn fast that what didn't immediately revolve around him didn't _concern_ him. If you weren't funneling thousands upon thousands of dollars into his Armani, silk-lined pockets, then he wasn't your friend. He wasn't your enemy, either. He was just there. A constant presence that didn't concern _you_ because you didn't concern _him_. But since Phil was his client, Phil was Paul's number one concern. If only for his monetary value.

So, when Phil had tried to tell Paul that he didn't drink, didn't smoke, and didn't do drugs, which all around made him one-hundred and five percent better than the rest of the WWE, it went in one ear and out the other. The SES didn't pay to be his client, so the SES didn't concern him. Besides, Phil was human. And every human had their indulgences. But his values were not tainted by his indulgences, unlike Paul Heyman's… if the man had any values at all.

Phil took a seat at one of the tables, far away from all of the other stars. It looked like the resident wonder-boy had had one too many drinks, because he was singing karaoke with AJ. Badly, he might add. Mike the Miz and his lover of three years, JoMo, were almost knocked out cold at the bar. Eve looked like she was giving one of the Rhodes Scholars a lap dance, but he couldn't see which one. It was just another night out. Nothing _too_ unusual.

A voluptuous waitress meandered over to him and offered him a sweet smile. "Can I take your order, sir?" It took him a minute to remember that he handed eaten dinner.

"Yeah. I'll have a Diet Pepsi, a shot of whiskey, and… two hamburgers." Phil finally decided. The whiskey was for Paul, who hadn't arrived yet. Only one, of course, because that man held his liquor about as well as he handled a court case.

She looked at him oddly and he realized it must've been a little odd to order whiskey and a hamburger. "Okay. I'll have that ready for you in ten." She scratched a final note down and handed him a receipt.

The drinks arrived earlier than that. The whiskey sat at the other end of the table, untouched, while Phil nursed his Pepsi. Somehow, it just didn't settle well in his stomach tonight. It could have been because of the Shell-Shock that Ryback had delivered to him earlier, or it could be due to the fact that, directly across the room from where he sat, were none other than Adam 'Edge' Copeland and Jeff Hardy. His eyes settled on Adam momentarily, before they fixated on Jeff.

Jeff had done well for himself, Phil realized blandly. It seemed like only last week when he came to a TNA PPV too stoned to compete. And now, he was their Golden Boy. Hell, he had _always_ been their Golden Boy. Just like John Cena, no matter what he did, would always have the love, adoration, and respect from the fans. And Phil, no matter how hard he tried, just couldn't obtain that level of fame. Even as the WWE Champion for 358 days, it seemed like nobody cared about him.

Paul chose that moment to slide into the booth across from him. "Sorry that I was a little late. Traffic was killer. This for me?" He motioned to the whiskey. Before Phil could answer, he drank it down smooth. "What did you order?"

Phil motioned to his Pepsi. "Soda. And two hamburgers."

"You should have gotten something to _drink_. You need a little alcohol. Loosen up a bit." Paul said.

Phil shook his head. "I don't drink."

"Psshh." As if he was accusing Phil of a lie. "Everyone drinks, Phil. Admit it to yourself. One little drink won't kill you."

Phil raised an eyebrow as he finished off his Pepsi. "It very well could. If I were to get hammered, who would drive back to the hotel? Who would wrestle tomorrow when everyone else is hung-over?"

"Your food, sir." The waitress slid the plate down in front of him.

"Thanks." Phil picked up a burger, took a bite, set it back down. "Answer me this, Paul. Am I not WWE Champion?" A nod. "And I not the _best_ WWE Champion in the history of WWE?" A nod. _"And aren't I the best in the world?"_

His suddenly aggressive tone attracted a few stares. Phil glared at them and they hurriedly turned away, trembling. "You're all those things and more, Phil! Why, you're the best thing the WWE has going for it right now!"

"Then why does nobody show me the respect that I deserve?" He asked exasperated.

"Because they don't understand what the definition of 'respect' is, Phil. You shouldn't expect so much out of them."

Phil knew that that wasn't the real reason. Maybe the reason that he couldn't earn respect from others was because he didn't respect _himself_. It killed him inside to head out there every night and kiss up to assholes like Alberto Del Rio and the Big Show, to receive their help and hell, up until last week, have them _serve on his Survivor Series team_. It was true that the WWE was selling him short, but that only happened because _he_ sold _himself_ short first.

Phil sighed. It was a never-ending battle that he knew he could never win. After all, a brilliant man once said that it is impossible to make everyone happy, but it is incredibly easy to piss everyone off. Well, at least Phil had succeeded in one half of the spectrum. He never set out to please anyone but himself, but it would be nice if, after all this was over, his still had _one_ dedicated fan left. But that was a hard thing to come by for heels nowadays.

"You should eat that burger, kid. It's already started to get cold and soggy." Paul made some sort of noise in the back of his throat and hurriedly looked away.

"I'm not hungry anymore." Phil took out his wallet and tossed a few bills down onto the table. "The fumes are getting to me. I'm gonna head back to the hotel. If you drink too much more, call me and I'll drive you back, okay?"

Paul waved him off. "I'll be fine to drive myself."

As Paul worked on his second whiskey, he could already see that his movements were slowed by drunkenness. "Of course you will. Just remember that the offer is on the table."

"Whatever." Paul tossed over his shoulder, before he turned his attention to the scantily clad Divas.

* * *

Phil hadn't really wanted to leave. Paul was just about the only person left that still wanted to talk to him and right now, Phil craved attention. As much as he didn't want to sound like a bratty, bitchy submissive, he wanted to know that somebody still cared about him. That after this entire mess was over, somebody would still love him. And lucky for him (or unfortunately, however you want to view it) the dominant soul that he needed was there tonight.

Jeff slid out of the bar shortly after Phil, buried in a leather jacket. A lit cigarette tilted out of the corner of his mouth. Phil stared at him for several moments. It wasn't like they had never been 'together' before. No, quite the opposite, to be exact. They had been an item for the better part of five years, until Phil decided that his career meant more to him than Jeff did. And that was the catalyst for a long list of mistakes he would make throughout his career.

In order to bribe the ref to call the World Heavyweight Title match in his favor, he had sucked him off. And if he were to be totally honest here, sucking him off had led to a whole lot more. In the end, Phil had won the match and had torn Jeff's shoulder so badly he needed an operation. And Phil hadn't been ashamed. Quite the opposite, actually. He had proudly paraded the belt around the locker room. And that was when he had first felt the cold sting of solidarity.

But tonight… tonight was different. It had been four years since then, four years since Jeff had walked away from the WWE. And now, he had his eyes set on what rightfully belonged to him. The twisted gleam in his emerald eyes assured Phil that this would be painful, this would be brutal… and he longed for every bloody minute of it. Because this was what he deserved. This was what he wanted. Somebody that actually cared about him.

"I came over to your table to congratulate you on your win against Ryback. Did you let Brad Maddox fuck you so that you could keep the gold around your waist? Huh? I bet you did. Because that is the kind of _whore_ you are." Jeff hissed.

Phil shook his head and swallowed hard. "I didn't… I haven't… not since…"

Jeff smirked darkly. "What? You actually expect me to believe that you've been celibate ever since you decided to confess your dirty little secret while I was making love to you? You can't honestly expect me to believe that."

"I know that I never said it before, but I'm _sorry_ Jeff. I didn't mean to…"

"Didn't mean to shatter my world? Didn't mean to tear my heart out of my chest and crush it in your bare hand? Huh?"

"I'm sorry, Jeff." Phil could feel the tears start to come and he was so, so ashamed of himself.

"You should be, you little fucking whore." Jeff hissed darkly. "But you know what?" He spun Phil around and with a vengeance Phil had never seen before, tore his shirt off his body. "Sorry doesn't cut it this time."

Jeff took out his lighter and struck it once. The noxious fumes filled the air and with his free hand, he pushed Phil's naked chest into the icy brick wall. And then, he touched the flames to the non-tattooed portion of Phil's skin. The raven screamed, but Jeff pushed his face into the brick wall until he tasted blood and couldn't suck in enough air to properly operate his vocal chords. Blood bubbled to the surface as Jeff signed his name on Phil's skin.

After the first few minutes, almost like the first time Jeff had taken him, the burning sensation started to melt away into something else entirely. He started to rut up against the wall, feeling Jeff's hands travel over the globes of his ass. It shouldn't feel this good, but it did. Something was wrong with that. Terribly, terribly wrong. But he would worry about that later. Right now, he worried about the painful delirium he had entered into thanks to Jeff's ministrations.

And then, Jeff leaned down and pressed his still-lit cigarette into the crook of Phil's neck. That threw him over the edge. With a long, drawn-out scream barely muffled by the wall, Phil came into his jeans like a middle school boy. Jeff put out the light and stuck it back into his pocket, before he tenderly wrapped Phil up to cover his burns. It wouldn't do to have his new brand distorted or infected, after all. Phil started to moan as the pain set in, but it wasn't too bad… yet.

Jeff stared down into Phil's half-lidded eyes. "What do you say we head back to the hotel and finish what we started?" Jeff took Phil's hand and put it on his swollen erection.

Phil smiled weakly. "I like that idea."

* * *

And the next Monday night, when Phil wandered out with bandages still secured around his middle, it was no longer thanks to Ryback. No. He now bore the brand of his master, and for once, he felt _complete_…


End file.
